


Pure Orange Poison

by putridserum



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Descent into Madness, Dubious Science, Eye Trauma, Gen, One Shot, blight fuckers please don't look at this you make me really uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putridserum/pseuds/putridserum
Summary: The memories of a mad chemist.
Kudos: 8





	Pure Orange Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after "Pure White Poison" by Utsu-P.

He remembers the foul, suffocating haze of the opium den. He can't recall how or why he was brought there; only the beating of hooves on cobblestone and a burlap sack over his head. Maybe vermin had eaten at his flesh, too, as evidenced by a familiar prickling sensation around his chest and limbs. Sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if it had been some sort of punishment. Punishment for what, though? Despite his unscrupulous past, he had done nothing but good for the monks at the mystery school. He'd tended their holy gardens, keeping the plants within lush and healthy through the harshest weather. He'd worked tirelessly to further their research, bringing new perspectives and untold innovation to the table. They were always so kind and gentle, too, and for a time, he might have even called them his family. Why, then, would they leave him to rot in such a horrible place? He had little time to ponder before the claws of delirium took him. 

He remembers waking next to a small campfire, surrounded by unfamiliar figures in bizarre clothing. A cynical, bespectacled one — "Benedict", apparently — explained that he'd been spirited away by a malicious "Entity". Hungry for human emotion, it forced its captives through an endless loop of death and torture, bleeding away their hope until only empty shells remained. He initially balked at the other, branding him a lunatic, before the other "survivors" came to his defense. _Why haven't you tried to escape, then?_ , he asked, frustration leaking into his voice. _We can't_ , said a small woman with fair hair. _I'm sure you can. You just don't have the resolve_. With a scoff, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the rolling mist.

He remembers finding Vigo's laboratory. The last few days — or were they weeks, or months? — were a blur of violence, of knives in his side and meat hooks in his chest. With each "trial", he found himself growing more and more desperate for an escape. He would stray from the campfire and wander the black Fog, searching for anything that could possibly yield answers. When the derelict building came into view, curiosity bubbled in his chest. He tore the rusted lock away and entered to discover a playground of possibility. The heart of the lab was home to scientific equipment, vials of glowing liquid, and piles upon piles of notes, all signed with the same curlicued "V". With eager hands, he snatched a leather-bound journal and began poring over the information within. According to its author, nectar from the alien flowers blooming around the realm could be distilled into a serum with mysterious properties. Immediately, he saw similarities to what he'd studied under the mystery scholars. If soul chemical could open doors to other worlds, maybe this "putrid serum" was the key back to reality. 

He remembers experimenting on the killers. Many of them had gone under his knife, but the one he recollects most clearly is "the Doctor". The man was a menace in trials, tormenting survivors with electric shocks and giggling at their agonized screams. He couldn't help but belt a cackle of his own as the other sobbed and writhed in pain, strapped firmly to a metal table. There was something beautifully karmic about the sight before him; a cruel, sadistic murderer at the mercy of his victim. Perhaps this was how he would atone for his sins. He'd enact righteous retribution upon the scum of the realm, then use what he learned to free the innocent. 

He remembers the Void. It was a maddening place — not hot, nor cold; not wet, nor dry; so crowded, yet so desolate. Empty shells, trapped in the limbo between life and death, gawked as he wandered the colorless plains. In a way, he was just like them; a husk of his former self. He'd forgotten his name, his past, and his quest for freedom. All that remained was a dull, aching desire. _Please, just one flower. That's all I ask._

He remembers a mountain of human remains with a single pustula at its peak. He recognized the faces within — they were the ones his previous work had killed. In another time, he would've broken down; would've been horrified. Taking those lives had been his biggest regret. But the hunger had hollowed him out, and he got straight to climbing, using skulls and bones as ladder rungs. Upon reaching the summit, he grasped at the flower, only for it to turn to dust. A shrill, bestial scream tore from his chest as he plummeted to the ground. 

He remembers a voice. _What you seek is in your mind, Talbot._ Without hesitation, he thrust his fingers into his eyes, clawing them into a gory pulp. Where was it? Where was the flower? Why could he still see from the empty sockets? 

He remembers curling up and sobbing. Fat, ugly tears ran down his face, mixing with snot and still-fresh blood. _Please, just one flower! I'll do anything!_

He remembers a glow. His wish had been granted, but at what cost? Did the cost matter when he was this desperate? 

He remembers the pure orange poison infecting him.


End file.
